


Guns Blazing

by Dracoravebird



Series: Archangel's Merc [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, I refuse to novelize Mass Effect, I suck at fight scenes, M/M, Romance, Summarization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-02-08 11:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12864003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoravebird/pseuds/Dracoravebird
Summary: After Shepard's death, Garrus finds himself with a new ragtag team, though fate has more in store for him, yet.





	1. Smash n' Grab

Freelancing was all well and good, but if Garrus had a choice, he knew he needed to have at least a couple people he could count on. He had gotten so used to having a team. No amount of time after the Normandy’s destruction and Shepard’s death was going to fix that.

Everyone had gone their separate ways. Kayden returned to the military life. Wrex went back to Tuchanka, just as Tali returned to the Migrant Fleet. Nihlus was devastated, naturally. He had only just started recovering from Saren’s death, and then to lose Shepard… Garrus wondered how he kept going. Spectres were not lucky enough to get grieving time. Garrus shook his head, staring down absently at his drink. Omega was not the ideal place to live, but he could make a difference, here. And there was no better place to pick up on rumors or potential work than at a bar.

Unfortunately, that also made him an easy target for any number of local gang members.

There was a Turian he did not recognize. He was a behemoth of a man. One of the tallest he had seen, enough to look Councilor Sparatus in the eye. Heavily muscled, wearing medium armor. Black and steely grey with a few mint accents. Tan hide with darker tan markings. There were piercings along either side of his rather impressive crest, as well as two rings in either mandible. It was enough to make Garrus wince at the idea.

The stranger’s piercing gold eyes were largely focused on the Asari strippers dancing on the catwalk above the bar while he sat back in his booth, arms stretched along the back of it and one hand holding a glass of Turian brandy on the rocks. Garrus could see no insignias on his armor. Not with the Blood Pack, Blue Suns, or Eclipse. He was either passing through, or the head of a new group.

While he watched the stranger’s reflection off his glass, he did not expect much to come of it, and could see the stranger barely gave him so much as a glance. If only the same could be said for the three figures walking towards him. Two Batarians. One Vorcha. Blue Suns from the armor.

“We haven’t seen you here before.” One Batarian, presumably the brains of the three, crossed his arms and leered at him. “So I’m gonna assume you’re new, here.”

“I’ve lived here for a few months by now.” Garrus muttered, returning the glare, subharmonics rough in a low, warning tone. “And I would like to drink in peace.”

“Then you’d better pay up. You wanna operate here in omega, freelance? You gotta buy insurance. Before accidents start happening.”

“And here I was hoping you’d say something more original.” He huffed, unimpressed. “Fuck off.”

“I don’t think I made myself clear. I said—”

A deep, slightly rough voice made the three freeze up anxiously. “Maybe you’re just hard of hearing.”

Gazing behind them, Garrus saw the older, larger Turian he had been observing now standing behind them. The Vorcha had backed off, likely on instinct, ditching the two Batarians to their fate. The pair peered over their shoulders, and were met with the face of a decidedly annoyed Turian, empty glass in his hand, head tipped back just slightly.

“I believe the man said he wanted to be left alone.” The stranger growled, eyes narrowing and mandibles tight in obvious irritation. “So I suggest you run back to your boss. Before I forget myself.”

Without so much as a word, the two briskly departed the bar. Whomever the older Turian was, he was obviously someone they had no interest in fighting.

Garrus pouted. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re welcome, brat.” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes, setting his glass on the bar. “I came up to get a refill.”

He watched him a moment while the bartender filled his glass. “You don’t look like another freelancer. But you’re not wearing any of the local merc insignias or gang colors.”

“Cause I have my own outfit, kid.” The stranger chuckled, looking over at him. “I don’t make my team wear uniforms. I spent enough time in the military to get sick of that, myself.”

Silence followed, however brief.

“Oh. Was that your fancy way of askin for a job?”

Garrus growled quietly at him. “No. I was curious.”

“Sure you were.” He paused, looking him over. “Granted… We have a job coming up. Could use an extra set of hands. How would a freelancer like you feel about running with a team for a day?”

“Was that your fancy way of offering me a job?”

Where he could have expected to be struck or rebuffed, Garrus was surprised when the older Turian barked out a laugh. “Yeah. Guess it was. … What’s your name?”

“Garrus Vakarian.”

“Tarkis Oryn.” He paused to take a swig of his drink and set some money on the counter. “Docking Bay seven. We’re heading out tomorrow. Get there early.”

\---------

Garrus considered not showing up. Briefly. Still, he was curious, and there was a chance this was the opportunity he was looking for. He did not have much to lose, honestly speaking. Might as well.

So, he went, arriving in the early morning at the docking bays. He saw Tarkis speaking to a Quarian in plain armor, the blue-grey cloth accents plain and possessing no clan markings. An exile, then. She stood with her arms folded and hip cocked while a Human and Salarian stood near their ship, checking over the systems and the weapons they had loaded in the cargo bay. Spotting him, the Quarian pointed. Tarkis turned, and tipped his head back slightly, mandibles relaxed in a pleased manner.

“There he is. Glad you could make it.” Tarkis nodded.

“He looks young.” The Quarian huffed. “What kind of experience do you have?”

“Former C-Sec officer.” Garrus supplied.

“That figures.”

Tarkis gave her a sharp look. “Hush. Kid’ll do fine. … Garrus, this is my first mate, Ehlan. She’ll be watching our backs on sniping duty.”

Garrus nodded.

“Back there are Chett and Meeko. They’ll be with us on the ground team.” He paused, watching another Turian stride out of the ship in a flight suit and harness. “And that’s Sidonis. Our pilot.”

“So, why do you need me?”

“Extra hands make light work, or however that saying goes. And I have a feeling you won’t flinch in a firefight.” Tarkis turned, leading the pair to their ship’s cargo bay, where the others waited.

None of them were quite what he expected. Not standoffish, but wary all the same. Tarkis pulled up a map on his Omni.

“Our target’s the supply shipment heading to the Blue Suns. Smash n’ grab. If we can’t take ‘em, then we drop in some charges. Either way, I don’t want those supplies reaching their destination. Me and Garrus will head straight into their teeth. Meeko, Chett, you two get in from the side. Hack their systems and wreak havoc. Questions?”

“How many are we expecting?” Garrus questioned.

“Not many. Blue Suns always run their shipments through outposts in case the rations are drugged, or other nasty surprises. At least twenty. But probably less than fifty. Usually rookies.”

Sidonis smirked. “Engine’s warm and ready to go.”

“Good. Look alive, people. Let’s go.”

\---------

[We’re here.] Sidonis announced over the intercoms as he coasted the ship through the atmosphere of the little no-name planet. [From the looks of it, this used to be a pirate outpost.]

Tarkis glanced towards the cockpit, pacing slowly along the space of the cargo bay. “External defenses?”

[I’m seeing some sniper perches and some lookout stations. Nothing we can’t handle.] He snickered, a smirk in his voice. [I’ll drop you off in walking distance. Then, me ‘n Ehlan’ll take care of any snipers before you get there.]

“Good.” He turned to his team. “If plan A don’t work, head to plan B.”

“What’s plan B?” Garrus glanced to the others.

Chett smirked. “Plan B is cap’s way of sayin ‘wing it.’”

“I prefer the term improvise.” Tarkis shrugged. “Either way, stick with your partner, watch your back, and you’ll do fine.”

Sidonis guided the ship down to hover only a couple feet off the ground. Once the two ground teams were deployed, she took off and made to circle, cargo bay doors open for Ehlan so she could pick off enemies from above. She had to be one helluva shot if she could hit a moving target while she herself was moving. Part of Garrus could not help but want to see that in action.

He followed Tarkis closely. If the older Turian noticed that he had a rifle and pistol rather than an SMG, he said nothing of it, not seeming to care, instead taking point and moving so quietly that he made Garrus sound noisy by contrast. The firefight was clean and went as planned. Garrus had been worried, when he and Tarkis were pinned down by some crates, the larger Turian shielding him partly with his bulk and heavier armor. It was quick when it happened. The ground turrents suddenly turned and began firing on the Blue Suns, leaving the pair to continue infiltrating the small base.

They left no witnesses. Garrus had no issue with this. He knew what the Blue Suns often did and were capable of. When every last opponent was dealt with, he assisted Tarkis and his team in getting the supplies aboard, and they took off to return to Omega. As the others sorted through and divied up the spoils, Tarkis strode over to the younger Turian, mandibles poised in a smirk.

“You did good.” Tarkis informed him. “Fast thinking. Good aim. Makes me wonder why you left C-Sec.”

“I left before then. I was part of a team under a Spectre, after. When she died, I ended up here.” Garrus shrugged, though his expression was tight and uncomfortable.

“Oh… I see. My condolences.” He bowed his head briefly. “I’ve never met the Commander. But I have friends back on the Citadel. Still do. Thanks to her.”

He sighed heavily. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, after seein how you handle, we could use another member of the team. There’s a bunk for you, if you’re interested.”

Garrus glanced about. At the ship, and the other mercenaries. He nodded. “I’m in.”

“Good to hear it. Welcome aboard.”

\---------


	2. Sleepless Nights & Shore Leave

“Can’t sleep?”

Garrus nearly fell out of his seat as he swung backwards, expecting an attack.

A broad hand caught his wrist and steadied him. “Easy! Easy.”

“How…?” He glanced around, wondering how someone Tarkis’ stature could move so quietly.

“Habit. I used to be part of a recon team.” The older Turian supplied. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“No problem.” Garrus let out a quiet sigh, watching the captain move to the cabinet where the liquor was kept.

“So, what’s wrong?”

Hesitating, Garrus gazed to the side, mandibles tense and leaning downwards. “Just… nightmares.”

“Mm. I get what you mean.” He poured them both some brandy and sat across from him, sliding one glass in front of him.

“Does it ever get easier?”

“Losing someone? No. And if it does, something’s likely wrong with you.” Tarkis supplied, looking down at his drink thoughtfully. “What was she like? The commander.”

The question surprised him. Not asking how she had died, or what had happened. Asking about her in specific. As a person, rather than a “hero.” For a long moment, they sat in the dimly lit galley, Garrus gathering his thoughts and taking a sip of the liquor. Tarkis said nothing, letting the younger take his time, knowing all too well what it felt like to be in his position.

“Determined. She never let anything stand in her way.” Garrus finally supplied. “Didn’t care for politics. Wasn’t shy about letting everyone know what she thought. Including the council.”

“Heh. I’d pay to see that.” Tarkis chuckled. “Especially the look on Sparatus’ face.”

The idea drew a weak chuckle from him, and a nod. “And not afraid to get her hands dirty. I’ve seen that woman punch a Krogan in the teeth and shoot her way out of a thresher maw’s gullet. Sometimes, I forgot she wasn’t invincible. I just…”

Tarkis tilted his head slightly, mandibles flicking with curiosity.

“I feel like I could’ve done something. Anything. And maybe it would’ve made a difference.”

“Or you’d both be dead.” The older Turian took a swig. “You can’t get caught up in what could’ve or what should’ve. You’ll make yourself crazy. Or suicidal.”

“So? What should I do?”

Then, it was Tarkis’ turn to consider. “Just take things day by day. Honor the fallen by carrying on in their stead. That’s all anyone can do.”

Garrus stared down at his drink for a few seconds, and nodded, holding up the glass for a toast. “To the fallen.”

“Hopefully, they’re keepin our seats warm.”

They clacked glasses, knocking back the rest of their drinks.

“Go get some rest, brat.” Tarkis stood, making his way around the table, pausing long enough to rest a hand on Garrus’ shoulder. “You’ll need it.”

\---------

It had been a long month. A month of missions, dividing spoils, rounding up bounties… It came as no surprise that Tarkis then ordered some shore-leave for his crew, at the “nicest” bar on Omega. As Meeko would say, no sense in attracting attention to innocent lives when a firefight could break out.

Tarkis still wasn’t certain what to think of Garrus. Well, actually, he liked him. A lot. Probably more than he should. Ehlan had gone into some psych spiel about seeing some of himself in the younger Turian, but as far as Tarkis was concerned, it was more of an… attraction, than some familial bullshit.

Things like this pissed him off. Mostly because he had no idea how to approach someone with that. A stripper, he could hand money and be done with it. But flirting and starting something off for himself? Yeah… Spirits, he had never been very good at that. Lucky for him, the universe seemed to have its own way of doing things, and in this case, he didn’t have to be the instigator.

He was taking inventory on the ship, the final day of shore leave, when Garrus returned. The first, not counting himself. The younger Turian seemed spry. More so than usual. Maybe being on the team was doing him some good. On his way up to the taller, older man, he gave a chuff in greeting. A good sound, one reserved for friends and, by some, considered flirty. Yet, before Tarkis could even contemplate a different response, he chuffed back, mandibles flicking slightly.

“Getting an early start?” Garrus questioned, leaning against one of the crates.

“Part of the job as captain.” Tarkis shrugged, gaze still focused on the manifest displayed by his omni. “And a habit, I guess. Just because you’re done with the military doesn’t mean it’s done with you.”

He tilted his head. “How long?”

“Thirty standard years? Give or take a few. Didn’t really keep track. But a long time.” His glimmering, honey-colored eyes rose to meet the slighter’s blue ones. “Served in the same unit as Sparatus.”

“Really?” Garrus tilted his head. “So, has he always been…?”

“A hard-ass?” Tarkis snickered and nodded. “Oh yeah. You have no idea. He’s actually mellowed with age.”

“Oh spirits…” He winced at the idea that the councilor had been worse, once upon a time.

“Yeah. And between you and me? Bastard still can’t hold his liquor. Anyway… did you need something, brat?”

Garrus noted how the nickname was said with fondness, now, rather than irritation. “Not really. I just ran out of things to do, and thought I’d come by to see if you needed anything.”  
He tilted his head.

“I mean, you didn’t leave the ship. Sidonus mentioned it was odd, for you.”

“Did he, now? Hmph.” Tarkis’ mandibles flicked. “Just feelin a little off. It happens now and then. But, if you really want to help… I could use a sparring session. I’d ask Sidonis, but he says I hit a little too hard for him.”

“Why me?”

“He told me how you saved his ass a week or two before we met. Said you had some impressive moves. Maybe I wanna see that for myself.”

Garrus considered a moment before nodding.

Everyone else came back one at a time. Once they were back underway, Garrus and Tarkis met in the cargo bay, both in their civvies. For Garrus, that mean a loose undershirt and comfortable pants. For Tarkis, it meant no shirt at all, and sweatpants. The younger Turian then saw his appearance wasn’t solely to do with armor.

Broad shoulders, built muscles… Garrus had never quite seen a Turian built like this – not overly so, but noticeable – and he had no doubts that Tarkis worked hard for it. Scars littered his form. One from a blade here, one from bullets there. Garrus swallowed hard at the sight, trying not to stare.

“You ready for this, brat?”

“Ready if you are.”

\---------

The answer should have been: “Nope.” At first, it was an even match, so to speak. Tarkis took a defensive stance, letting the kid warm him up, deflecting and blocking most of Garrus’ attacks. Once he had a grasp for the younger Turian’s style, he had grabbed a thin grey wrist, hefted him up by his middle over one shoulder, and threw him to the ground.

A thud echoed through the cargo bay, followed by a wheeze. Garrus peered up at him dazedly. “Warm-up round’s over, then?”

Tarkis grinned. “So you WERE holding back.”

“How could you tell?”

“The way you are. You’re a sniper. You carry yourself like one.” He pulled the younger up by his wrist. “Every move you make is calculated. And to do that, you need to observe things around you.”

“You talk like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not. But it has its limitations. It makes you predictable. Now… Let’s go for real, this time.”

Again, the pair took up stances. The first punch Garrus threw was caught and he was spun aside. He rolled into a crouch and rushed Tarkis, kneeing him in the side. The older Turian grunted and caught his leg, shoving his opponent backwards, shoulders-first into the floor. Yowling in the back of his throat, Garrus hooked his leg behind the taller, older man’s knee, sending him sprawling backwards and allowing the younger to get up.

Tarkis turned and rose to one knee. He may have been stronger, but damn if the kid wasn’t faster. Brute force vs speed.

The two struggled with one another for a while before a winner was decided. Tarkis found himself pinning the younger Turian to the floor, straddling his middle, a wrist in either hand so Garrus’ arms were crisscrossed. Both were panting and sweaty, and sore. The younger made quite the sight beneath him, chest heaving and a dribble of teal blood running from his nose. While not normally into that sort of thing, Tarkis could feel warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“Kay… I think we’re done.” Tarkis cleared his throat and stood, offering a hand.

Garrus took it, allowing him to pull him up. “For now. Damn…”

“You’re nose alright?”

“Yeah. Nothin broken.”

A soft purr welled in his throat. “This was fun, brat. You’re the first person to give me a run for my money.”

“I’d say that’s a complement, coming from a guy who hits like a Krogan.”

“And I’ll take that as a compliment.”

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not good at writing fight scenes... T-T'


End file.
